


Surviving the Bunker

by northernxstories



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernxstories/pseuds/northernxstories
Summary: I created a Clan and a new Bunker, where our charming people go instead of heading off into space and they beg for admission to this Bunker. Things are messy and weird and a whole group of people who have never had to really live in a functioning society together have to make it work. Features some alternate universe characters from Vikings but you do not need to know Vikings to follow the story. You can look up the characters though to see who I pictured as writing. Perspective likely to flip primarily between Bjorn and John Murphy, although there will likely be chapters dedicated to others along the way.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Echo, Bellamy Blake/Original Female Character, Echo/original female character, Emori/Bjorn, Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Emori/Raven Reyes, Ivar/Original Female Character, Ivar/original male character, John Murphy/Bjorn, John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Monty Green/Harper McIntyre, Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Raven Reyes/Bjorn, Ubbe/Original Female Character
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue - “The end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am a Vikings Fan and a The 100 Fan. Yes. Two shows that have seriously let me down. However, these muses live on in my imagination. One thing I noticed was that the Grounders and Grounder culture as it was written reminded me of the Vikings. Was I reading into it? Perhaps. I also thought it was a bit insane to send our lovely peeps up into space at the end of season 4 just to engage in a time jump of about 6 years. I also thought it was ridiculous that in less than a 100 years everyone on Earth would have gotten so dumb about the fallout consequences. It was like they engaged in a literal dark age of information for no reason. Books still existed for goodness sake. And so this is my creation. It's going to be fairly long. There is going to be smut of all kinds, angst, drama, poly family structures, babies and a leader who is over the age of 30 because I like the occasional droplet of realism in my madness. Everything is more or less canon with modest editorializing until the end of season 4 of The 100, except they do not go into space and I have made the nuclear meltdowns a smidge more realistic in terms of their longevity and consequences. Do not hesitate to ask if you have questions. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this work. I hope you enjoy it.

**_"It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine."_ **

It has been over a century since nuclear warfare decimated the world. Over a century since survivors fled to space, to bunkers, to small shelters and clung to survival. Small pockets of humanity dotted what was once the Eastern seaboard of what was once known as North America. Over that century, those small pockets of humanity became communities, known as Clans. Slang became a language of its own, commonly known as Trigedasleng or Trig. This allowed these small clans to pass information without the knowledge of those that once occupied the Mountain. Enemies of the survivors, the Mountain Men butchered, tormented, twisted and deformed the survivors of Praimfaya, the Trig word for the nuclear event that decimated the world.

The Mountain Men themselves were defeated by those who had fallen to Earth from a space station. The arrival of these people, who became known as SkaiKru, was a cataclysmic event for the Clans. Some of the changes wrought were good. The defeat of the Mountain Men freed survivors and allowed a few clans to strip the old sanctuary of its medicines and machines. Some of the changes wrought were devastating, including the destruction of several villages of the TriKru. The Commander’s faith in the young SkaiKru warrior named Clarke Griffin had caused consternation among the Clans and conflict among the ambassadors. As Azgeda made a play for war, other Clans were prepared to see how events would turn despite their loyalty to the Commander.

Another Clan, known as the LachiaKru, had no such concerns. SkaiKru’s loyalty or lack thereof was not their problem. Azgeda’s desire to take over command of the alliance between Clans and destroy the authority of Lexa kom TriKru was also not their problem. For you see, the people of LachiaKru believed that a second nuclear event was about to descend on the world and they had been preparing for this event for over forty winters. At every conclave they spoke of the time ahead. It would not be as devastating as the first Praimfaya but it would cause many winters of hunger, rain that would fall in sweeps of radiation, the loss of crops, animals, and poison the waters. 

As the capital of Polis hung by a thread, the ambassador of LachiaKru was ready to retreat from the hallowed halls of the Tower and the Temple and return to the Bunker prepared by LachiaKru to ride out these dark winters to come. By the time the snow fell, LachiaKru would have closed their doors to the fools that had not heeded their words.

**__**

On the Road to Polis

****

Bjorn and Ivar perched in the wagon. Behind them were the supplies pledged to the Commander. It would be their last journey to Polis. As of yet, it was undetermined if anything there would remain standing after the winters to come. They had prayed it would be so and that when the world woke up again, there would be others to make trade. LachiaKru’s primary industry was the art and science of medicine. They called themselves 'healers'. They prepared and traded medicines for other supplies.

It had been a week of steady travel to arrive at this point. The two men were brothers with the elder almost six winters older than the younger. However, they were both Masters in their field and earned the title accordingly. For LachiaKru followed the old designations - apprentice, journeyman, master, each indicating their rank and knowledge. Only a Master was allotted a residence in their village and a suite in their new residence to be. Only a Master could claim a ‘family’, a privilege within the Clan. The Commander found their reliance on such formalities to be rather quaint but inoffensive. Other Clans did not understand their ways, believing the Masters to hold slaves, similar to Azgeda and some of the other Clans of the north where life was more brutal and yet disregarded as cheap. LachiaKru did not regard anyone’s life as cheap. Their Clan was small, numbering less than 1,600 souls. However, their families and their Heda, an aged woman of intelligence and wit, known as the Grandmother, were strong. Most thought the Grandmother to be mad.

Aside from the delivery of the medicines as needed, the brothers and the young apprentice currently seated in the back of the wagon among the goods, were to collect the LachiaKru ambassador from Polis and return him and his family to the Bunker for final preparations. The capital finally rose in the distance, the tower breaching the skyline above the trees. The horses were well-fed and content as they plodded on their path, even after so long a journey. The brothers were not rushing. They were savouring this final trip with a sense of remembrance, hope and a tinge of sadness. It was likely the last time they saw this place or these people.

The road to Polis was treacherous at the best of times and this time was no different. Thieves and brigands were notorious along its path. Well, that was true of most paths. The healers of LachiaKru travelled. It was one of the requirements of their journeymen and some Masters continued to conduct their rounds, visiting those they deemed friends and watching little ones grow. 

LachiaKru also liked to hoard information. While travelling, they paid the young and often ill-informed to help them find repositories of books. Medical, engineering, math and science were particularly valuable but they’d pay for nearly any, usually with food and supplies and sometimes with medical care. Once or twice a child was traded for it, always to LachiaKru. They expanded their ranks through many such orphans or abandoned children. They collected them all - children and books, bringing them back to their people. To date, this repository of books remained uncatalogued aside from the math, science and medical books which found their way to the Masters who trained the young apprentices.

Several generations ago Lachiakru took on the role of training the healers for other people, leading to a tentative peace with nearly all other communities, the nations of grounders as those of SkaiKru called them. Some years ago, Azgeda advanced on one of LachiaKru’s northern villages and in retaliation, LachiaKru simply withdrew all aid and medicines from Azgeda to LachiaKru. Warriors were left untreated, medicines left out with no one to understand how and why to use the variety of tablets, powders, leaves and bark. Needless to say, even Azgeda did not want to lose the aid of their healers or the medicines their warriors needed. So, the armies of Azgeda withdrew, the healers returned to their tasks and nothing more was said of the matter. 

Bjorn was lost in drowsy thought when he spotted a huddled body left on the roadside, as if abandoned or tossed from a passing cart. A slave that grew too ill in transport perhaps, Bjorn thought as he drew up the reins and brought the wagon to a stop. The Healer threw the brake and slipped down from his perch. His legs ached from the duration of the journey but this troubled him little. 

“Careful.” Ivar warned. Although the younger brother, Ivar was a suspicious man as a rule and this close to the capital, he was even more so. He let his hand fall low, touching the hilt of his knife tucked into the high leather of his boot. Bjorn never could resist the frail, fallen or those needing immediate care. Adults held less interest and earned less empathy from Ivar. His weakness was children, infants and pregnant people, which was why his specialty was childbirth. If the situation was too complex or the midwife raised concerns that there may be more than one child to be born, he was asked to provide that care. Childbirth was treacherous but having a good midwife and Master Ivar as the Healer improved the odds.

Bjorn on the other hand was more of a healer for all. Back in the Days Before, he would have been known as a general practitioner or family doctor. Now he was a Master Healer with a gentle touch despite his enormous size. He fairly towered over the average male, even the new King of Azgeda, whom he knew was not a small man.

He approached the prone male and bent low, brushing gentle fingertips over the young man’s upper back and along his spine, checking for injuries and fever. His movements were halted by the flash of a blade. He looked down and into the wide blue eyes of the young man who was now holding a knife to Bjorn’s throat. “Listen boy disha ste nou a good idea.” (translation: Listen boy this is not a good idea.) He started, speaking Trig as he assumed the young man was likely a young exile from a village, desperate and hungry.

Before the boy could reply, Bjorn heard his name, called out in some excitement. Glancing away from the boy, which admittedly was risky given that he still had a knife all too close to Bjorn’s throat, Bjorn saw a small face appear in the bushes. It was a face well-known to the Healer. “Emori!” Bjorn exclaimed, rising to his feet and stepping toward the petite young woman as she emerged from the bushes at the edge of the road

“John ... don’t ... this is ... we can’t with them.” Emori tried to explain haltingly in English. John’s Trig was still not great but he was catching on quickly. Bjorn was almost amused as the young man scrambled to his feet and appeared utterly perplexed as Bjorn pulled Emori into a hug. A hug that Emori returned with a grin on her face that appeared to stretch from ear to ear. Ivar’s hand released its hold on the hilt and had a suspicion as to what was about to occur. Looking back at the young apprentice Ivar instructed her to put together two bundles of food and supplies. His brother was a soft touch but even Ivar was fond of the freikdreina. Bjorn noted in some amusement that boy was edging toward her as if she might need help or protection.

Bjorn stepped back and cupped the young woman’s face. He traced the edge of a new scar along her cheek with his thumb and tsked softly, stepping back to let Ivar see too. The man sitting in the wagon shook his head in clear disapproval of this new injury. “Ai expect mo sense kom yu, clever gada. You’ve grown since osir last saw yu. Chit... em has been gon least tu o thri winters nau? yu laik almost a grown plan. Where ste Otan?” (translation: I expect more sense from you, clever girl. You’ve grown since we last saw you. What ... it has been at least two or three winters now? You are almost a grown woman. Where is Otan?)

Bjorn looked around expectantly and even the cynical Ivar mirrored the motion, eyes scanning the forest’s edge for the young man that he and Bjorn called friend. In fact, Otan had saved Bjorn’s life once, many years ago. That was a long tale for another day however. Emori shook his head and switched to English so that Murphy could follow the words as spoken, “I haven’t been able to find him but I will. Very soon. I wish to go look for him as soon as I can convince….” She assured the Healers, confident that she would once again find her brother, as soon as she convinced her man to join her in the search.

Bjorn sighed, “Pity. I would have liked to have seen him again before....” He paused and glanced over at the young male and then back at Emori again. With a tip of his head indicating the boy, “Is this your man, Emori?” 

The wide smile on her face spoke volumes. “This is John Murphy.” 

“With the name I assume you are of SkaiKru?” Bjorn queried and ignored Ivar’s growl of irritation from the wagon seat. “Not anymore.” John tried to protest but Bjorn just laughed, “They aren’t so bad. They need to stop thinking they understand life here better than us and they would fare far better but that is their battle, not ours. There is little time for it left anyway.” 

Before the younger man could speak further, Bjorn cupped John Murphy’s face and looked at him as if he were a horse put to market. His gaze ran over him carefully, noting the way Emori’s young man flinched when touched. He wondered what had happened but assumed if he was out here, living rough and thieving from traders and travellers, it was nothing good. Bjorn nodded and commented gruffly, “Prettier than I thought you would like. Healthy enough too but you both look as if you could do with a good meal or a dozen. I am pleased to see you both though. John Murphy and Emori.” He acknowledged both of them before continuing to speak, letting his hands fall to his side as he looked down at Emori earnestly, “The time is coming. What we have spoken of ... you are always welcome to join us. You and Otan … even your young man here. I would keep you safe.” Bjorn pledged quietly, knowing Emori would refuse. She always did. She didn’t feel welcome among people and he did not blame her. LachiaKru was different but not different enough.

Bjorn sighed and conceded, to himself at least, that he would be unlikely to persuade her. The large Healer touched Emori’s cheek, drawing her gaze up to his, “I know you do not like the idea of living with so many rules or with, people. I accept this. We all do. But for your sake, for both of you, find somewhere and get inside. I’ll be at least five winters, long winters, before food will be safely grown outside again. We survived before. We will do it again. LachiaKru is closing its doors before the rains turn to black snow. Soon the water will be poison.” 

Turning to look at John Murphy, “You and Emori need to find somewhere safe. This is our last journey to Polis. We have medicines for the Commander and her people, for the days ahead.” If he couldn’t persuade the stubborn Emori, then perhaps the Healer would have better luck with her pretty-faced companion.

Emori shook her head, “We’ll survive. John and I ... we’re survivors. You don’t need to concern yourself with us.” Ivar had descended from the wagon seat while the others had been speaking. He chuckled in amusement as the guarded boy stepped back and toward Emori, protectively, “He’s a feral pup, isn’t he?” Bjorn murmured to his brother but he approved. 

In Ivar’s hands were two bundles as prepared by the apprentice, containing food and a container of water and wrapped in a soft blanket. “Well I’ve said my piece.” Bjorn continued. He wasn’t about to beat his head against a stone wall to persuade Emori of the truth of his words. He hoped she heeded them in time to find somewhere safe. He’d never been able to persuade Otan either. It was frustrating but it was also typical. For many years, LachiaKru had been dismissed as led by a madwoman predicting the second coming of Praimfaya. Now that all signs pointed to this wild prediction as fact, others still chose not to see. It was enough to drive the sane to the brink of true madness. 

Ivar handed one bundle to John and then another to Emori. Cupping Emori’s face, much as Bjorn did, he nodded at what he saw there. “You are a strong woman now. Keep yourself and your man safe. If you need us ... if you can get there before the doors close, we will help you.” Ivar pledged. There were some loyalties that could never be forgotten and Otan and Emori’s assistance to him as he tried to save his brother was something that neither brother had forgotten. Gifts deposited, Ivar returned to his spot in the wagon.

Bjorn mirrored his brother’s motion but then he deposited a kiss on Emori’s cheek and then did the same to the one known as John Murphy. He flinched again and Bjorn wondered what had happened to him to make the young man so fearful of a gentle touch. 

“Stay safe. Stay well. Get inside. Take care of each other.” Bjorn stated, “And may we meet again. If I see Otan, I will leave word at the trader’s outside TriKru’s western villages that you are safe and around the capital.” He stated before following his brother up and onto the wagon. The reins slapped the back of the horses and once again the wagon rolled forward and on toward the capital.

As they rode away, the occupants of the wagon heard the young man exclaim to Emori, “What the hell was all that?” Emori’s response had them both laugh despite themselves. They liked her, even if she was too stubborn for her own good at times. “LachiaKru. Madmen and healers. They are so mad they even treat those like me ... and believe that Praimfaya is coming again. They are crazy. Everyone knows that their Heda is mad.”

The voices faded as the wagon continued, lighter by a modest number of supplies, onward to Polis. A few days there and they were gone again, returning to LachiaKru’s territory and missing the drama arising from the Commander’s death and the events surrounding ALIE’s attempted takeover of the mind and body of the people in Polis and surrounding clans. They never knew if the presence of their Bunker or the distance had protected them from the interference of the computer program. News filtered back in incomprehensible pieces but little mattered. After all, Praimfaya was coming and they had final preparations to make. The huge fences surrounding their primary entrance to the Bunker were drawn to a close, although Bjorn and Ivar continued to keep a lookout for one stubborn woman and her pretty faced man.


	2. Desperate Hope

_“Hope is the thing with feathers_

_That perches in the soul_

_And sings the tune without the words_

_And never stops at all.”_

Murphy sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle, the small rover that was well armoured against the toxic rain that had been falling on and off as they travelled. Raven Reyes was behind the wheel, trying to keep the old vehicle in motion, despite the fact there was less and less solar exposure to keep the batteries powered. Echo was beside her, providing directions, although the frame of reference was strange inside the moving vehicle and quite unlike her experience in any previous mode of transportation.

So it had all turned out to be true. The second coming of Praimfaya was here. The water was growing increasingly poisoned. Insects, animals and fish were all becoming toxic to consumption. The Bunker as discovered by the former Chancellor of the Ark, Thelonious Jaha, was now under the control of the remaining survivors of the Commander’s alliance. He could scarcely comprehend everything that had happened over the last few weeks, much less the last few months. 

However, there were rays of hope. Hope that he was clinging to like the cockroach they all called him. He hated that damn term but he supposed it did apply, at times. Survivors moves were necessary. However, to his mind, none of the others in this vehicle were really any different. As he understood it, Clarke Griffin, Monty Green and Bellamy Blake were all responsible for the massacre of the Mountain Men. Bellamy had also participated in the brutal slaying of the TriKru warriors sent to keep SkaiKru safe from other angry clans by the Commander. He could go over the details a thousand times and still discover something new about what had gone on while he was in exile, trying to survive and then keep Emori alive as well. To be fair, Emori was also trying to keep him alive. 

He reached for Emori’s hand, despite the heavy plastic of their suits. His helmet bounced on his knee as he felt unable to hold himself completely still. Another downpour of the toxic rain had him swallowing around the lump in his throat. It was always grim outside now, dark like it was early evening, even though the clock in the rover had the time at just past noon.

He had never minded the dark before. It was quiet and comforting. On the Ark, he would hear the heartbeat of the machines, the systems all functioning to keep them alive. On Earth, he had found comfort in the dark with Emori. He glanced over at her and squeezed her hand again in an effort to offer comfort. Murphy was aware that she was apprehensive about this journey. Joining LachiaKru was something that had been offered to her before. However, their system of organizing their families had never appealed to her or her brother, Otan. It was too close to slavery, something they had experienced before when they were young. The collars, the claim of possession, and the title of Master given to the one in charge of each ‘family’ was disturbing to her. She didn’t know much but she knew enough to have always given them a wide berth, if maintaining a friendly relationship with them, for most of her life. They were desperate though and counting on Emori to get them into the last possible haven. The attempt to go to space had failed before it had started. They were living on borrowed time and everyone in the rover knew it.

Murphy had different thoughts on the matter. He understood Emori’s fears and as long as they had another option, he would do anything to be with her and spend his life with her, however long that life happened to be. What turned in his mind though was the warm touch to his cheek and that soft kiss. The scratchy beard dusting against his skin had his hand moving over that spot for days afterward. He could recall how big the man had seemed and even more unusual for Murphy, how safe Bjorn had seemed. He recognized that it was fucked up to fantasize about a person he had met for all of five minutes on a road. 

But after Ontari and the events in Polis ... he suppressed a shudder in recollection and his brain skipped over many of the events that occurred there. Clarke had left him to his fate and it had been one hell of a fate. He had survived but he was convinced he had lost pieces of himself in that effort. Afterward, he regretted not going with that big man with the scratchy beard and convincing Emori to do the same. Then the shit that had gone for the last few months, as they scrambled from place to place, lurching from one disaster to the next it seemed, wouldn’t have happened. They would have been safe. He let out a soft breath like a huff. 

“Y’all right Murphy?” Monty had noticed. The young, brilliant man of Korean descent had been through the wringer of late too. Murphy didn’t pretend that all the bad shit landed at his door, even if it felt like it at times. Rumour had it that in the war with ALIE, Monty had to kill his own mother. Murphy understood a little of that kind of guilt himself and knew how that would haunt Monty. Worse still, Jasper Jordan, Monty’s lifelong best friend, had elected not to chase survival with them. That was a move Murphy could never understand. He pursued survival above all else.

Still, he and Monty may have gotten off to a rocky start when the drop ship arrived on the planet, they had found a way to almost be friends. He knew losing Jasper had taken Monty perilously close to the edge but he had Harper. John approved of the relationship, even if his approval meant shit. Harper was beautiful, smart and strong. She was also remarkably kind, even to him when he absolutely didn’t deserve it. She was also always willing to call someone out on their shit, which Murphy knew he absolutely did deserve at times. Murphy nodded at Monty to indicate he was okay and offered Harper a small half-smile that she returned.

“We’re getting close now. Just turn after ... what the ...” Echo was their road map. An Azgeda warrior and spy, Echo had also been through it over the last few years. She had been a captive in Mount Weather, disowned by her own people and left to suffer the end of the world alone, stripped of everything she had known. She was with them because she was necessary. Echo had been the capital of the LachiaKru territory before, deep in the mountains that used to be known as the Appalachians and were now the territory of LachiaKru. She had not been permitted to see the interior of the Bunker but she knew where the gates were. As a spy ... Murphy guessed a former one now, she had a lot of information about most of the grounder communities. If Echo was their map then Emori was their key. 

Murphy looked around at the others, Raven, Bellamy, Clarke, Monty and Harper. He wondered if any of them understood how much easier it would have been for Echo and Emori to leave them all behind and head to the LachiaKru Bunker together. Did any of them give a shit that Echo and Emori were risking their own survival to help them? He wasn’t sure. However, he also knew that if they had to choose between their own lives and him and Emori, he feared they would be left on the outside. They did it before. They’d do it again.

This time they couldn’t though, because the key to getting in at all was Bjorn and Ivar’s regard for Emori and the fact that her brother had once saved Bjorn’s life. The warm feeling expanded when he thought of him. Bjorn. That was fucked up right? Some weird obsession with feeling safe he expected. Or maybe he was just fucked up. But he knew, deep inside, that the idea of that man standing guard, keeping him and Emori safe, felt better than he had felt in a long time.

The vehicle ground to a stop in a jerk that practically tumbled them into one another. “What’s that ....” There were people, so many of them, trudging, walking, making their way forward in a surge now that the rain had dissipated again. Some were carrying dying people, people covered in radiation blisters. 

“Oh fuck.” Raven threw the vehicle into reverse and pulled back as far as she could. The young engineer was panicked. Raven knew how to be ruthless when needed but rarely was she confronted with the idea of just running over the people in front of her. 

Echo shot her a look. “Wrong direction. We need to get closer to the gates, not further away.” 

“I know!” Raven replied harshly, flustered, “I just ... “ She started to edge forward, fists slammed against the metal of the rover and angry faces appeared and disappeared in the windows. The vehicle started to shake with the forces being put on it. Finally they could truly go no further. 

“Gear up everyone.” Bellamy ordered, assuming command, again and John had to refrain from rolling his eyes as Clarke chimed in after him, “We need to get as close to that gate as possible. Emori...” She looked down at the still seated grounder woman, “Ready? We need you up front. Let’s go.” 

Unable to resist, “Always ready to throw her life on the line, aren’t you Clarke?” He stated, although there was a ring of truth to his words, as he followed Emori out the doors, making sure both of them had their helmets on. It was not better outside. The pushing, the pulling, at one point he was knocked to the ground and someone kicked him before the others managed to help him get back to his feet. Finally, Clarke pulled out her gun and fired a warning shot into the air. Everyone around them scattered, allowing them to approach the fence. The gates were enormous and sturdy, built into the mountain’s edge that marked off the entrance to the LachiaKru Bunker. It had clearly been restored diligently as Murphy tried desperately to make out any of the people he could see through the open doors. 

Murphy pressed against Emori’s back, arching his arms around her and holding a fence post on either side of her. He was attempting to guard her from the press of the crowd as much as he could but with limited success. Now that Clarke had holstered her gun, the crowd had surged around them again, the hope of survival overwhelmed their fear of the weapon. 

“John.” He heard Emori say, her voice seemed small and desperate to him. He turned as best he could in the awkward helmet to meet her wide eyes, “I don’t ... I don’t see him.” she said softly. 

Looking through the gates at the Bunker entrance, Murphy could see people moving in and through the entrance. LachiaKru warriors or rather guards he suspected were reaching up to catch as a couple of small children were passed over the gates and handed over. The guards then carried the terrified children inside the Bunker. All of the LachiaKru guards were wearing thick rain ponchos that seemed to protect them against the toxic damp given that the rain threatened to pour at any moment. As hope began to dissipate, Murphy saw him. He wasn’t even sure how he recognized him but he did. He shouted and Emori waved. They all did, standing out in the red material of the suits they were wearing. 

Then Bjorn disappeared again. Did he see them? Did he know it was them? Damn it! Murphy screamed. “No ... at least take her! Take Emori!” No one was listening or looking at them. The fragile shred of hope he was carrying started to splinter. Then two shadows loomed in the Bunker entrance. It was them! His group started to scream but the crowd behind them roared as well. Was this man that important or was this blind hope from desperate people? Murphy wasn’t sure. However, as the crowd pressed forward, Murphy’s body was starting to be crushed between the crowd and the hard and unforgiving metal of the gate. The pressure was so great that he could hear the squeak of it as his helmet was slammed into the gates and he was terrified he was hurting Emori. The others of his group were not faring any better.

Murphy tried to keep his eyes on the men as they approached, like dark shadows that towered above all of them. The gate, which until now had been resolutely locked, gave a little and finally cracked open. He couldn’t focus on anything in particular, he just pressed his hand to Emori’s back and pushed her forward. Murphy watched as one of the men grabbed Emori and pulled her toward them. Bjorn, yes … it was him, reached for Murphy and he reached back. It was desperate and hopeful and so close. 

Yes. He knew it. They were going to survive. 

Murphy reached toward him but the crowd grabbed at his suit and yanked him back. There were simply too many people and he collapsed under the weight of it. Someone fell on him, another kicked him, and he continued to try to crawl forward with no success. He reached Monty and the two of them circled Harper and the three slowly managed to rise. 

Murphy managed to make it to his feet and straighten his helmet to see just in time to see Bjorn carrying a struggling Emori inside while the other man from LachiaKru had Raven in his arms. There were two others but he wasn’t sure which ones they were. Fuck. This was his last thought as another wave from the crowd sent him flying, this time so hard that his helmet became dislodged from his suit and his head smacked the cold cobblestones. This was it. He was going to die out here, in toxic rain. At least Emori was safe. There was pleasure in that thought as a foot came down on his face and he heard a crunch as someone tackled the aggressor away before further damage could be inflicted.. He tried to look up but like that, the blackness at the edge of his vision overwhelmed him and he was swallowed in blessed darkness.


	3. Dreams & Nightmares

**_“Hope is a waking dream.”_ **

Had they been hoping she would appear? Bjorn was prepared to admit that he was, but he suspected his brother, Ivar, would deny it. Even still, more than once, he had seen his brother scanning the fence line around the gate for that sweet face and distinctive tattoo. There were others out there but they had spent years offering people a place within the Bunker. These fools didn’t want to live by their rules. They wanted to take over the Bunker. Well, they were mistaken if they thought such an action would be permitted. They should rejoin the battle in Polis if they wanted that level of contention. Still they agreed to take infants and small children to give some a chance to see their bloodline carry on.

Bjorn was making final preparations to close the outer doors and waiting for the last of the little ones to be carried through. He wasn’t at all sure why he was still looking, still hopeful that little Emori and her pretty faced man would show up. He had liked that boy in the few minutes he had known him. Scrappy fighters were always his cup of tea as his grandmama used to say. 

The Bunker itself was 26 floors with a final level, just below the last official level containing a natural hot springs and deep cavern that had no external entrance, other than the Bunker above. They had checked thoroughly and even with the rising radiation outside, the hot springs showed no signs of contamination. It was a blessed relief since they were counting on those springs for heat, water decontamination and frankly, the ability to just enjoy something natural that felt, just for a while, like being out in the world and not in a metal box. 

They had restored the Bunker but stripped out many of the spaces they seemed to desire in the Days Before. Instead, they focused on animals, food growth, storage and of course living quarters. To survive the next six to ten years, they also needed not to go as mad as those in Polis once claimed LachiaKru to be. So when the bar known as the Cavern was built on the lower level, just above the hot springs, the Grandmother and her heir, the Granddaughter, looked the other way. They also did the same with the sparring space they had developed in the empty space of the mechanical level. Frankly sometimes you just needed to hit something to keep yourself together.

The entrances to the Bunker were connected to a space that surrounded the real bunker that was through a large set of doors known as Blast Doors. That’s what the side read, still visible after a century. Bjorn liked the words, Blast Doors. There was something that spoke to action about them that he found appealing. The external doors were connected to the Blast Doors by small tracks on which carts operated to allow them to haul goods and materials. The best of these was now stored on the first level inside the Bunker, in the hopes of having them remain functional once the doors reopened. The last ones were rickety and old and if it had not been the end of it all, they would have been dismantled for parts and destroyed. There were two left out, the one pointed toward the blast doors and the other pointed down one of the old lines, although they did not intend to use this one again. It was in rather terrible shape after all. The carts operated by levers that rocked back and forth with a person on each side of the level pumping down which caused the other side to rise. They then would build up a speed all their own and you just had to hold on for dear life. The stopping function had been among the first to go. 

Bjorn was about to give the signal to close the door when he spotted a group of people dressed in red suits with matching helmets. It was so eye-catching that he stopped, rather transfixed, and then he made out one small face. Emori! He gestured to his brother, and stated brusquely, “Emo laik hir. Osir souda go ge em.” (translation: They are here. We must go get them.)

He could hear Ivar cursing but the man put up no argument as they pulled on the gear they used to protect themselves from the perpetual damp and waded out. The people surrounding the gate screamed at them and Bjorn felt a pang of guilt. He did not enjoy leaving others to die. He was a Healer after all. He wanted to spare them all from needless suffering. Unfortunately, there was little he could do. The Grandmother had decided and frankly, he only had consent to take in Otan, Emori and her man. That was all. Still, he knew he wouldn’t leave the others of her group, even though he was well aware he was risking the Grandmother’s wrath in so doing. Worst still, he was risking the Granddaughter’s wrath and frankly she was scarier than the Heda of their Clan. It was still a risk he was willing to take. 

Ivar and Bjorn approached the Gate with haste, inserting the key and letting it open slightly. You could open this gate in pieces, rather than all at once, which was a benefit in this moment. The smaller section opened under Ivar’s hand and Bjorn reached forward for the Emori. Other red-suited creatures fell through as well, making a break for the entrance. 

However the crowd was not prepared to take this lying down and started to pull back. Bjorn almost had Emori’s man in hand when the crowd hauled him back and he disappeared from Bjorn’s side in a tide of bodies that crashed like a wave, nearly taking them all down. Bjorn carried Emori through and he watched as Ivar scooped up another red-suited female and carried her through the entrance. Two other red-suits made it through. Unable to stop the rush of people now, the doors slammed shut behind Ivar, who just made it through in time.

Emori was fighting in his arms and he couldn’t hold her any longer. She ran to the door and banged on it with angry hands. She pried off the helmet she was wearing and practically threw it at Bjorn. Her words were incoherent and tumbling over one another, an incomprehensible mix of English and Trig. His sister was yelling from her position on the last cart pointed toward the Blast Door. Three other warriors, each holding a sobbing child sat on that cart waiting to go, and appeared exhausted by leaving so many to their fate.

“ENOUGH!” Bjorn roared, loud enough that even the three small children stopped and stared at the roar of sudden sound. One hiccupped, which would ordinarily be charming, but no one was in the mood to laugh. Bjorn looked back at Emori and stated clearly and slowly in English, which he knew she spoke well. “How many of your group are missing besides your boy?”

Emori wasn’t sure and glanced around but the question was answered by another red suited female. She pried off her helmet and looked gravely at Bjorn, “Four. Four are missing. Clarke. Murphy. Harper and Monty.” Bjorn met her eyes and felt like she was familiar. She was not one of the SkaiKru and she was clearly a warrior. He was sure if the world were quieter, he would be able to place her but he couldn’t in this moment.

“Good. You can recognize them all. You are coming with me. We’re going to go get them.” he stated firmly and she only nodded in response. The only male in the group they had rescued pried off his helmet as well. Dark curls surrounded a handsome face, “I’m going too.” He chimed in and then nodded as if he too were signing up a pledge. By all the old gods, these people were dramatic about things.

“Me too.” Emori continued, as the redheaded female waiting on the cart spoke up, “Bjorn ... the Blast Door is closing soon. We need to ...” 

“No! Enough!” He interrupted, growing frustrated with the unnecessary delay as people wanted to talk and not follow an order, “Cat, I am not playing games here. Go tell them to hold the Blast Doors for us. Emori, you go with my sister. You will be persuasive and you being safe here is the rationale we will need to get your man in as well. If you want your John Murphy to live, get on the cart and do what my sister tells you to do.” He gestured to the young woman wearing tools on a low belt and had her bright hair screwed up into two balls on the top of her tiny head. “Cat, Take the rest of the group with you. Wait there.” He nodded to the young woman who was half collapsed alongside the wall. She had been carried in by Ivar and looked exhausted. 

“Take care of her. We’ll get your strays. Do not leave the Bunker. We will not get a second chance at this. We’re pushing it already.” Bjorn repeated and prayed they did indeed have the time they needed. 

The young male, a man he would come to know as Bellamy Blake, stared at the thick metal doors and stated quietly. “So open the doors.”

Bjorn shook his head at the request framed as a demand and nodded toward his brother, Ivar, “We’ll go out the east entrance. It is smaller. Most don’t know about it. We need not to catch eyes. Come on. We do not have time to waste.” As he spoke he turned on his heel to climb aboard a rickety excuse for a cart, unlike the sturdy one that the others were seated upon. It was on its last legs but with luck, it perhaps had a few more lives to spare. 

“Get on.” Bjorn demanded and he didn’t have to ask twice. Bellamy and Echo had barely settled on the cart when it began to move. LachiaKru had used these paths and old machines to move goods, people and animals in the decades they had spent restoring the bunker. 

Bjorn watched as the red suits sat in silence on the edge of the cart as it sped along. They seemed to be breathing heavily but he wasn’t about to drag them from their thoughts. He was plotting how they were going to manage to get to the strays and get the pretty man and the rest of the group back within their walls. He also prayed that Ubbe would have joined Cat at the entrance. Their third brother was a persuasive man who had a long-standing friendship with Elys, the Granddaughter, and frankly a friendly ear would be needed when they had so blatantly defied the will of the Grandmother. The cart finally came to a hard stop and the occupants were half flung to the ground in a heap.

“Sorry about that. No brakes left on this one.” Bjorn stated as he jumped down and offered a hand to help the other two back up to their feet. “All in one piece? Good.” He reached for a spear and passed one to the warrior. The other male was clinging to a firearm slung by a strap around his chest. Bjorn hadn’t noticed it earlier but it glinted threateningly in the dim light of the flickering overhead lights. SkaiKru, he guessed, much like Emori’s man. He wondered if the others were also SkaiKru or if two SkaiKru males found themselves travelling to safety without their own group.

“I’m Echo. Of Azgeda.” Bjorn nodded in acknowledgement of the name. An impressive Clan, although a little prone to rage and vengeance in his opinion. Still, to his mind, they would not be sorry to count her among their own and then glanced at the other who hastily added, “Bellamy Blake. Of ... I guess I used to be SkaiKru. Arcadia.” Bjorn nodded, as he suspected. It was less impressive. From what he had seen, the people of SkaiKru had never quite lost their sense of their way was the only way, as if they hadn’t been surviving on the Earth’s surface for the last century while they were snug and safe in space. 

“We need you to be a little less visible.” Ivar ground out. He was always the more silent brother but only people who did not know him thought him unaware. He was observant and insightful. He was also right. The bright red was far too visible to the others. Each brother grabbed a rain slick poncho and pulled them down over the suits the Azgeda warrior and SkaiKru guard were wearing. 

Bjorn nodded and started, “All right, let’s keep things clear. I get the impression you’re used to being in charge here but this time you are going to listen to me. We have a short window. We’re going to move as fast as we can to find them and get them back here. They will only hold that final door for so long, especially now that the front gate has been breached.”

He shrugged and continued as he and his brother placed their hands on what seemed to be another outcropping of rock and pushed. As he did so, Bjorn continued, “I’m Master Bjorn. He’s Master Ivar. Just so you know, we usually patch people up and don’t put holes in them.” Ivar had to laugh at this, despite the dire situation, “Not that we can’t. Although if we’re really going into a fight, we should have brought Cat.”

Bjorn just laughed as the two of them finally caused the door to pop open and they continued to push until it was wide enough to allow all of them to step through with ease. Ivar slid it almost all the way closed but even in this state, it was nearly impossible to identify the location. The small group were standing on the side of a hill with only a little gravel at their feet to indicate where the entrance was. 

“Impressive.” The one called Bellamy commented. Ivar nodded in agreement as they started to walk, and explained, “There’s actually nine other entrances. Aside from the main one. All lead to the central blast doors. One on each side of the mountain. We’ve been working on this for longer than anyone of us has been alive.” To their left was a deep forest which now looked coated in the toxic rain and dying foliage, giving it a bleak impression. In the distance ahead they could make out the village where the leaders of LachiaKru had once resided, along with the most prominent families. There were no LachiaKru people left there, only those who had come to the village too late and too desperate. The village was now a shell of its former self, inhabited by outsiders, desperately clinging to something they had rejected for generations. To their right was the mountain itself, containing the restored Bunker.

“Although in about six to ten winters, when we reopen, who knows how many will still be accessible. We may have to dig our way back out.” Ivar continued conversationally. They were almost half-way back toward the main collection of people when they heard a man call out. Bjorn paused, suspicious and uncertain. A single man emerged from the darkened forest and to say the group hunting for the strays was suspicious would be an understatement. 

“Wait here.” Bjorn murmured and approached.

Extending an arm, Bjorn grasped the other’s forearm in an acknowledged greeting. “Hello old friend. Changed your mind?” He questioned quietly. The other Healer, Itam, was known to him. An old friend with a stark terror of enclosed spaces, Itam’s reasons were valid but it still hurt Bjorn’s heart to know the other man would choose death rather than join them in the Bunker. Itam didn’t waste his words, “I have them. The ones you are searching for.”

“What do you mean, my friend?” Bjorn was cautious. He didn’t need to disappear on a fool’s errand. They had too little time.

“The ones in red. Better hurry though. Several of them are injured and we just barely got them to our shelter.” He gestured toward the deeper woods, where they would be away from the gate. It was a risk. A genuine one. They could waste time, be assaulted, or held to bargain for a place inside. 

Bellamy called out, desperation in his words. “We need to get to the gate. Now!” Ivar shushed him, “Wait and see.” 

Bjorn considered it and met his friend’s gaze. Trust or not to trust? Which would be the lost time. “We follow him. Come on.” Bjorn trusted Itam and hoped he was not wrong to do so. Otherwise all of their lives could be lost today. They pushed through the murky depths of the wooded area, stripped of life from the toxic nature of the rain that had poured over it many times now. The radiation level was stripping life from the planet itself. The structure of the shelter looked slick and haphazardly thrown together but as the door opened light, warmth flooded into the darkened forest. Night was falling now and in the wooded area, now dying, it felt darker and more chilled than ever before. To think only twenty winters ago, he and his siblings had played here in a wood full of living creatures. 

A fire roared pleasantly in a low fire pit at the centre of the building. The others sat around in a semi-circle against the walls, with three of the red suited people standing in the middle. “Clarke.” the man called Belllamy Blake nearly shouted in relief, rushing to her side. The fair haired woman’s helmet was cracked and sitting in her hands. With the addition of their group, there were now too many bodies in this small space.

Bjorn pushed back the fabric of the hooded garment he wore and looked around. “Where is the boy? The one called John Murphy.” Bjorn questioned gruffly. If they had not gotten the boy, this journey was only partially completed. John Murphy was, after all, the point. To be frank, if the pretty faced man had made it through, they likely wouldn’t be out here. 

A heavily pregnant woman stood up and pushed toward them. In her hand was a bloody rag that she then tossed into the fire before she cupped her back and sighed, “He’s over here but he’s hurt. You need to get him inside. I have nothing to treat him with.” Bjorn stepped around the young man blocking him from seeing the boy and crouched low. It was Emori's man. John Murphy. He sent a prayer of thanks to the old gods and reached forward to dust a hand over the boy’s cheek. His breathing was shallow and the gash on his forehead was dripping blood, soaking his hair and the fabric underneath him. Damn it. That would require a couple of stitches to close at the least. 

As he touched the young man, he saw the eyes flutter and then open but he couldn’t seem to focus and flinched away from the gentle caress. Bjorn didn’t blame him, “Hello again, John Murphy.” He greeted quietly, "I think you looked prettier last time I saw you. Shall we get you back to your Emori before she digs her way out with her knife and a rusty spoon?” He tried to joke. Murphy opened his mouth as if to speak but could only cough, spraying Bjorn with droplets of blood and mucus. Damn it, that likely meant there were other injuries hidden beneath the awkward garments that he was wearing and which were now in a tattered state. He needed to get him to his Healer’s Ward immediately. Reaching around the younger man, he cupped the back of his head and then under his knees before Bjorn lifted him slowly. He tried not to wince as the pup whimpered in pain. Still, as if having good sense even in this state, an arm circled Bjorn’s shoulders and gripped the fabric as tightly as he could.

“Let’s go.” the boy mumbled through bloodied lips, barely clinging to consciousness. 

“That’s a good boy.” Bjorn praised in a soft whisper. “I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” Just live, the Healer prayed. 

He turned to leave and was astounded to see his friend, Itam, holding a knife to Ivar's throat. A standoff had formed in the time it had taken for him to collect Emori's man. All the heavens and all the hells, they did not need this right now. The entrances were blocked, the strays plus the two they had brought with them were now in the centre, surrounding the firepit, giving the room an odd glow as the light reflected from the red of their attire. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Bjorn demanded. “Itam! I trusted you. This is not necessary.” It was rare to see him genuinely angry but ooh angry he was. He had trusted Itam. What was this? Finally, the eldest of the warriors stepped forward. “Itam is acting on my orders.” He nodded toward the heavily pregnant woman who had been trying to care for the John Murphy, “That is my daughter. And this one ...” He gestured to his left at a pretty faced younger male, “Is her man. Take them with you. That’s my grandchild she’s carrying. I want her to live. I want my blood to continue.”

The younger male spoke hastily, almost too quickly to be understood well, “You don’t have to take me. Just her. Please. Our baby deserves a chance. She’s a good woman. She ...” The older warrior held up his hand so the young one fell silent, “Take both of them.” It was a demand and a flatly stated one at that. It was also a plea. Bjorn had a soft heart and he could feel it crumbling in the face of a father’s desperation. Would two more young and healthy people matter after he had muddled it up with Emori’s motley collection of strays?

“We don’t have time for this....” Clarke started to argue and a din of raised voices started to rise in the confined space. There was rumbling outside. More rain was coming. It was a tell-tale sign and with so much damage to his suit, Bjorn was worried that the pup he had in his arms wouldn’t survive if they waited much longer. The Blast Doors would also not stay open throughout an entire rain storm. 

Ivar threw back his head and smashed Itam’s nose. One heard it snap loudly in the over-crowded room. He pushed the man he had once called friend away from his body. 

“Fine. We’ll take them.” Ivar stated flatly. “We leave now. We will never again speak the name of Itam. You are without honour.” To the LachiaKru, to have your name stripped was the lowest form of dishonour and Itam gulped and hung his head in shame. He was facing the end of his life and had abandoned his honour at the end of it all. Ivar’s hard gaze swung around as his hand shot out to shove the baby’s father toward the pregnant young woman. “Let’s move now. If that rain pours, these bargains will mean little for none of us will survive the night.”

The young father-to-be rushed to his woman’s side and gathered her close, helping her into a thick overcoat. A bag was put to his back and he picked up his weapon again. “This way.” He seemed shamefaced but there was a spark of hope there that had not existed earlier. Bjorn was displeased to jostle the young man in his arms so much given the undermined state of his injuries. He feared killing him just by moving him at a bad time. Emori might never forgive him. One of the other red-suited males was clutching his arm and trying to stay upright. It was hard to say now - dislocation perhaps - but it was clearly painful. Bellamy Blake was trying to help the pregnant girl hurry as much as possible. The tiny blonde female with fierce eyes brought up the rear. 

With every step they were brought closer to the mountain’s edge and away from the dark forest. Bjorn found it hard to stay upright in the softened ground when he was trying to hurry at this pace. He saw the one with the injured arm slip and fall. He was helped up by the one called Echo and another female in a red suit. He shifted John in his arms and prayed only that Cat managed to persuade them to hold the Blast Door this much longer. The eastern door was finally in reach. “Are you sure?” The young warrior muttered, terrified that this was a fool’s errand and he and the woman he loved would be abandoned when they had a shred of hope at last. There didn’t appear to be any entrance after all. The fears were understandable but they did not have time for them. 

“This is it.” Ivar assured as he turned the lever that was holding it in a partially open position and pulled open the ancient door, revealing the hidden entrance. Ivar held the door for him as Bjorn stepped through first and settled John Murphy on the old cart. He helped the pregnant woman up next and had her hold onto the pup as best she could. He directed the young addition up to the lever. He could help them get the cart moving, once done, the slope on this particular track should get them to where they needed to be - right in front of the Blast Door, hopefully in the nick of time. The others joined John Murphy and the pregnant woman on the cart including the young man with the injured arm and his companion. Echo had scrambled up and was trying to get everyone situated so there was enough room for the last few additions. She was helpful. He would remember that later. Finally, Bjorn glanced back and growled in frustration. Bellamy Blake was standing at the doorway with the blonde female on the other side. His brother’s expression was growing increasingly angry. 

“Why are you wasting time? Come. Close the door and let’s go now!” Bjorn shouted as he approached. The blonde female did not look away from the SkaiKru male, who appeared distressed. 

“You have to come. Clarke!” Bellamy was pleading. He seemed desperate. Were these two lovers? It didn’t seem so since she seemed reluctant to advance any further. Exasperated, Bjorn approached and interrupted, “In or out.” Bjorn interrupted. “You do not get to kill the rest of us while you have a heartfelt discussion. As if on cue, the sky rumbled again and lightning streaked the sky. They had made it inside with mere minutes to spare. The rain was about to fall. The blonde female didn’t look at either LachiaKru Healer. She kept her gaze on Bellamy Blake as she shook her head, slowly, sadly, “I just .... I can’t ... I can’t be owned. It’s just not ... I can’t live like that. Trapped. Caged. A possession. It isn’t right Bellamy. It just isn’t right. I can’t trade safety for enslavement.” 

Ivar’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Bjorn was equally angry. This woman knew nothing of his people or their ways and her judgment was rank. 

“Fine. In or out.” Bjorn stated with a nod, “Close the door, Ivar.” 

Ivar looked at Bellamy Blake. The male had acquitted himself well today so he was prepared to give him one final choice, “In or out Bellamy Blake. Leave with her. Stay with us. Your choice. Right now.” 

Bellamy looked out at the blonde female and then back at the others. “In.” He stated quietly, reaching forward to pass Clarke his weapon and then stepping back inside the entrance. His eyes remained fixed on hers as the door drew closed and Ivar bolted it shut. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he turned and stumbled toward the cart.

He was the last one and was barely on it when they began working the old apparatus to set the cart into motion. Echo had to reach forward to catch his clothing and haul him all the way on. There was a downward slope heading toward the main entrance from this level and it quickly picked up speed. They rounded the turns with speed and made no effort to slow. It meant the stop would be ugly. 

Ugly it was. The main entrance was half way closed and Cat was bouncing and waving as they barrelled toward her on the old cart. Bjorn crouched low and looked over at the young father-to-be. “Hold onto her. This is going to be abrupt.” He managed to say before doing the same with the injured boy. He feared what such a sudden stop would do to the young man’s injuries but there was no hope for it. They had no time to organize a soft landing. 

Cat was screaming, “They are coming. They are coming. Did you get them?” 

They could not answer. The deadlocks were in place, preventing the cart from entering the Bunker. It did mean that as it crashed to a stop, the cart’s occupants were flung off of it violently. Bjorn managed to catch the pup but it was a near thing to prevent the young man's head crashing into the metal of the doors. Bjorn groaned, cognizant of the fact that his own body was going to be black and blue after this one. Cat was pulling the others through and Bjorn barely managed to cross the threshold with John Murphy in his arms. He was the last to enter.

A buzzer sounded and the entrance slammed shut for the last time. This Blast Door would not reopen for seven long winters. Bjorn just sat, his back against an old piece of machinery, and tried to regain his bearings. He hadn’t seen where the others had fallen or their state of injury. His focus was on the young man in his arms. 

“John Murphy?” He whispered quietly, leaning in toward the boy. “Can you open your eyes for me? Are you still with me?” He asked but aside from drawing another ragged breath, the boy did not open his eyes or speak. The wound on his head was bleeding openly again.

Bjorn didn’t look away from the boy until he felt another tap to his shoulder. Bjorn looked up to see his brother, Ubbe. “We thought you weren’t going to make it. I see you couldn’t resist just a few more strays.” Ubbe had the good sense to bring down a gurney with him. Bjorn slowly rose and set the boy he was holding onto the gurney. Then he felt someone shove him away and the wild Emori was looking over her injured man. Bjorn smiled affectionately and nodded to his brother, “Some strays are worthwhile.” He noted sadly that Otan was not among them. Later he would ask Emori about it. For now, he let her follow John Murphy to the Healer’s Ward on one of the upper floors.

“I think I might have cracked a rib.” He groaned and then flashed a grin, “But I’m still here.” 

Bjorn’s sense of rising optimism and good humour faded as he heard a familiar tap. A cane. The cane. The Grandmother. He swallowed his smile and straightened his back despite the pain in his side. No one knew if she actually needed the cane or simply used it to good effect. It was a talent to say the least. 

“Grandmother.” He greeted the elderly woman respectfully before doing the same with the Granddaughter, “Master Elys.” Bjorn acknowledged both of them. Elys was heir to the title of Heda, which was currently held by the older woman. Although everyone of LachiaKru simply called her the Grandmother. She had long been labelled as a madwoman by the other Clans of the Commander’s Alliance. 

“Well it appears I must welcome some new additions to LachiaKru. Patch them up, Master Healers. For the next few nights, they shall stay in the Healer’s Ward. Not a permanent solution but it will do for the next few nights. I will consider this challenge you have laid upon us. Two nights hence, a decision will be rendered before the midday meal.” The Grandmother’s voice was strong and although she did not raise her voice, all present heard the authority she carried.

“Until then, rest well.”


	4. Finding Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exposition chapter. Enjoy!

**_“While there's life, there's hope.”_ **

Murphy tried to fight the light. It hurt. Everything hurt. He was so tired of being in pain. On the Ark had been bad enough. On the ground, it seemed like one exercise in survival after another and he was tired of the never-ending pain. He wanted to stay under. Stay in the cool darkness for just a little longer. He probably could have stayed there but he could feel the touch to his hair. Soothing and methodical, the touch carded through his hair to the nape of his neck in repetition. It felt so good. Was it Emori? It didn’t feel like Emori. Was he alive? Or had he finally died. Nope. Death wouldn’t be this painful. He was sure of it. Voices swirled around him, indistinct and soft. A deep rumble of a man’s voice combined with softer tones. Still the touch continued unabated. It was enough to drag him from the cool darkness into the bright, cold and painful light. He groaned as he tried to peer through the frame of his eyelashes. “Fuck.” he whispered.

“John.” He heard it. The worry in her voice. Emori. It shoved him the rest of the way. 

“Emori.” And his hand reached for her, even before his eyes were able to process the room. It was too bright and the light made him flinch. 

“John.” Emori repeated and then he felt the edge of a cup at his lips. “Drink. Just a little. How do you feel?” she asked and his response was merely a groan as he tried to sip at the water. It was cool and soothed his parched throat. It didn’t feel like enough and he swallowed as she sat back. The touching had stopped and he briefly wondered where it went. “Where are we?” he managed to get out, his hand reaching for Emori, seeking her as if she would ground him back in this bright, painful place. It hurt to be here but she was here, which made it worthwhile in and of itself.

“We made it John. We’re in their Bunker.” The words were soft and it took him a few seconds to process. His eyes flew wide, despite the light, and he looked around. It was clearly a kind of infirmary. Ten or twelve beds by first guess. He could make out Monty and Harper curled around each other in one bed. He couldn’t tell if they were awake. There were others he did not recognize. A pregnant girl. Some guy. Bellamy. Echo. He was counting them off in his head. Raven. Emori. 

“Where …” He dragged his tongue over parched lips before he could continue, “Where is Clarke?” 

Emori shook her head and whispered as she knew the words might offend the members of LachiaKru, “She didn’t want to stay. Didn’t want to be a slave here. That’s what Bellamy said anyway. I wasn’t there.” The story was told in halting fashion as Emori only had partial details. Everyone was thrown. Perhaps further details would come out later. Perhaps not. They had other things to work out. Murphy felt a pang of something ... they wouldn't have made it without Clarke and now she was alone, outside any safe place.

“Shit.” he whispered. It did not make him feel better not to have Clarke here. She was a survivor. He hoped he saw her again. 

Emori shrugged, “Yeah. But John. We made it.” The words were enough to tug Murphy’s lips into a crooked smile. Survival came first with Emori. Each other. Survival. Priorities. Sometimes it was simple like that. It was clarifying. Then he flinched as he took a deep breath. He hurt. All over. Just pain. However, he was alive. Emori was alive. They were safe for now. He’d take it. 

“Were you just …” He started to ask and then shook his head, dropping the question. He had a guess but wasn’t yet prepared to say the words just yet. A shadow fell over them, temporarily blocking the bright light and he glanced up despite himself.

“Hello John Murphy.” Bjorn’s voice was deep and it was comforting. He felt the touch to his hair again and knew it had been Bjorn this entire time. Murphy opened his mouth to speak but before he could, the Healer continued, “You’re not in the best shape. I think you’ve cracked your ribs. We don’t have any of those machines functioning right now to tell for sure. But that would explain why it probably hurts to breath but after a few days of rest, you can still do things. Just very carefully. You should avoid crowds of people. Amazingly nothing appears to be broken. You’re a strong one.”

Murphy’s lips curled into a smirk, “I’m hard to break.” He could think of worse things to say but he honestly didn’t want the man to leave or to stop looking at him with such soft eyes. The hand in his hair stopped and he was sorry for it but didn’t say anything. “I’ll bring some food for you in a little while. Some of your friends have agreed to look at some of the equipment we have stolen over the years, to see if they can get it working again.” He explained with a light shrug, Bjorn’s gaze appeared to travel between him and Emori. Was it wrong that he wanted the man to just stay, for a little while at least? He felt too embarrassed to ask and instead reached for Emori’s hand again. Seeing this touch, Bjorn stated flatly. “Until you are feeling better. No sex. You can cuddle when awake but those ribs are not in good shape. It is probably best you don’t try to sleep in the same bed for a least a few nights.” 

Murphy didn’t know why but Bjorn giving him instructions on whether he could have sex had a flush warming his cheeks. Emori didn’t seem as bothered and just nodded in agreement with the Healer’s words. “I’ll see you both later.” Bjorn assured with a gentle brush of the back of two fingers against Murphy’s cheek. 

Murphy watched as the others milled around, sometimes appearing and sometimes leaving the infirmary. The dark haired brother who had been in the cart as well appeared often and checked on him, Monty’s shoulder and the pregnant girl in a repetitious circle of concern and care. Emori was nervous about the upcoming meeting with the Heda of this Clan. Acceptance was not something either of them had experienced and there was no escape now. He tried to stay awake to comfort her but the dark crept around the edges and pulled him under with startling frequency. He didn’t think he had slept this much since he was living in the Skybox on the Ark.

The two days passed quickly and suddenly that complacent feeling of safety disappeared under a wave of fear. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as Monty and Bellamy helped him to his feet. His clothes were clean at least. It was the small things. His ribs hurt like hell but he managed to walk with the others to the meeting hall. Emori was beside him, quiet in that way that let him know she was afraid. She always grew quiet and observant when she felt apprehensive. He didn’t blame her. He could feel it too.

The meeting room was built in the shape of a circle. It was obviously an ancient space that had been patched. Everything here was a strange blend of old technology and the ingenuity of the people pulling things out of old texts and working with limited materials. The room’s original purpose was clear - a theatre or auditorium with a raised area on the lowest level while the seats circled around in order to view that raised area, slowly rising themselves to give everyone a view. 

The Grandmother entered, the tap of her cane a familiar sound to most. Murphy felt his spine straighten despite himself and he flinched. It wasn’t clear whether she needed the cane or whether the effect was the reason she had it with her. The tap to indicate her authority, the gravitas that it carried, and the way it accompanied her everywhere. After many young leaders and many more young warriors, it was strange to Murphy to the people of SkaiKru to see a leader of age, one who was evidently respected by her people.

The small group of new additions were escorted onto the raised area, although in Murphy’s case it was more of a stilted hobble. Monty also looked uncomfortable, his arm now in a sling, as he walked in between Echo and Harper. The newest of the new additions, now identified as Micah and Norah, came in at the end. Norah’s hand drifted protectively over her belly as they walked and Micah seemed to be trying to shield her to the best of his ability, despite the uncertain circumstances.

Nine chairs, obviously a spot for each of them, sat in a row across the stage. There was nothing else there. It felt like an interrogation under bright lights but no one was sure if that was what was about to occur. Murphy looked out at the audience, trying to see past the lights. There were members of LachiaKru in the seats, although there were less than thirty of them, which surprised Murphy. He wasn’t sure why, he just assumed that their dramatic arrival would mean more people would be intrigued. Guess they weren’t that interesting after all. He was relieved to see the Healers they had come to know - Ubbe, Ivar and most especially, Bjorn. Seated near them was the redheaded female, whose bright hair was still in two balls on top of her head with curly tendrils popping out. She looked ridiculous and tiny next to three large men. 

A younger woman rose and as she did, the others in the room fell silent and took a seat. Her voice was clear, “Welcome. I am Elys, a Master in the craft of leadership, trained by my Grandmother, the Heda of LachiaKru. We are the people that the others have deemed mad. We are the ones who will survive now that Praimfaya has returned. We have spent double the span of my life preparing for this time. You have arrived, at the final hour, to join us.” She paused to look at the culprits who had allowed in these new arrivals. None of these particular culprits looked the slightest bit regretful and their grins made Murphy smile despite himself. “And so doing you have set before us a challenge. The Grandmother has considered and she has decided. You will heed her words.”

With that the young woman sat and the room, which had been lightly abuzz with the sounds of movement, shifting, and light murmurs and laughter descended into complete silence. The Grandmother rose and then lightly tapped her cane upon the floor, a ringing sound that seemed impossibly loud in the relatively large space.

“First I will ask the one known as Emori to rise.” The Grandmother stated, her voice firm and strong, belying her age. It was the voice of a much younger woman and carried with it her authority. Emori visibly blanched and glanced at Murphy. Frankly he would have stood as well but his ribs still hurt too much to do so and he feared upsetting the balance against them and these people they were trying to please. He felt a rush of fear, though, and the terror made a lump form in his throat. Emori rose and took one step forward, away from the seats where the others remained, quiet and watchful. Emori folded her right hand over her gloved left hand and let out a breath. Murphy did not take his eyes off of his beautiful woman. 

“When you were but a girl, you aided your brother in the rescue of a young Journeyman Healer. Our Bjorn. Now a Master and an honoured man among our people. Your brother saved his life by risking his own and earned our respect. I hear that Otan is no longer with us and I am sorry for this loss.” The Grandmother stated, sincerity ringing in her words. Emori was heartened by them and nodded. Unsure whether to speak, she remained silent as the Grandmother once again continued.

“It is for this reason our doors were opened to you and the people you have brought with you when you appeared. It was the reason that two of our most promising young Masters were willing to risk their lives, leave the protection of the Bunker and lend aid to your people. Each of the people with you are here because of the life of Otan and his sister, Emori. I hope this gift is not forgotten for I find it a fitting tribute to a good man, who deserved far better than this world offered him. Now please have a seat.” She directed the girl and then smiled indulgently. 

Murphy folded one hand over Emori’s and leaned in to kiss her cheek. He could see the tears in her eyes. He wondered if anyone had ever acknowledged anything good she had done before. “It’s alright. They understand here. You are going to be alright. We’re going to be good. You’ll see.” He projected more confidence that he felt but he was trying hard to believe in it and this woman. He already liked her more for her kind and welcoming words to Emori. He fell silent when the Grandmother moved closer. 

The Grandmother stepped toward the stage as if she wanted to see their faces a little clearer and then nodded as if seeing something there of which she approved. “We are a proud people. When I was a child my friends and I found this place. Behind an old lever, built into the stone. We dismantled this place, our new home, and then we rebuilt it. We have studied and worked, risked our lives and have lost our people to ensure that this place could one day function as it was intended. In the Days Before, my grandfather was a nuclear technician, words that still trip my tongue.” 

The Grandmother huffed a small laugh before she continued, “He knew that one day, in the distant future, the old places that gave power would one day break down. While the effect would not be the catastrophic nature of the wars that brought us low, the dissolution of so many containment structures within a span of a few short years, would result in a nuclear winter that would cover most of the northern part of our world and some of the south. And we ... unfortunately, are near the centre of so much destruction. While far enough from the ancient plants which will fall within the inevitable dead zones, this territory is still too close to sustain any food or growth in the next few years. Of course, most of you know these facts. LachiaKru was aware that this time was coming but had no idea what to do with this information until this place was found. Now we have ensured our survival and it appears yours as well. You are no longer of SkaiKru, TriKru or Azgeda. You are LachiaKru.”

The Grandmother paused and stepped back, reaching for a small cup. She took a sip and then set it back down. Turning to look at the stage again, the older woman continued, “We at LachiaKru have three loyalties. First to our families. Second to our people. Third to all people. By coming to our door, by asking for admission to our residence, by asking to become LachiaKru, you must also put aside your former way of life to live ours. We know what is said outside our people about our families, about how we live. Masters and slaves.” She did laugh now, a deep laugh of amusements gone by and slighting words of people who no longer walked the Earth.

Then she cleared her throat, took another sip from her cup and set it down again before continuing, “It is true that a family is led by one’s Master. Anyone who masters their trade is known as a Master. A Master is of sufficient rank to be able to afford to keep a family and raise their children. A Master will lay claim to their family, which is no less than 2 people, no more than 4, not including children of course. That way, there is always enough resources and protection for that family. The world is a dangerous place. We subscribe to the belief that your family should be able to meet that danger and not just survive, but thrive. Children should not be left alone but cared for, by as much family as we can provide to them.” 

She shrugged lightly, “Now a typical courtship to arrive at such arrangements is over a winter or two at the least. Some courtships last for many winters as a Master will try to find the right blend of people to ensure the success and happiness of their family. A Master leads their family. All responsibility for the compliance with the rules, measures of governance and even discipline begin and end with the Master of that family. So of course, in our creation of our current home, we organized the residences of this place accordingly. A residence for each Master and their family. Each Master has known of their residence for many winters now. They have had time to put aside goods, enter into trades and store materials to ensure their family has what they need for this time. Their families have contributed to the gathering of goods. Each brought forth to ensure the survival of their family over the years ahead.” 

The Grandmother shook her head wryly, “From what I can see, you have brought no goods, no supplies, no materials with you. You have only yourselves and what you can give to your new people. None of you are familiar enough with our people, our way of life or this place to yet be afforded the rank of Master.” She held up her hand before anyone could protest, “Although you will all be afforded the opportunity to work, test your skills and contribute going forward. We have developed a credit system, similar to how currency was used in the Days Before. We intend to use this system to enable a market to thrive here and it is true that some of you may turn out to be quite adept at developing your skills and earning credits to support your well-being and supply goods to your family. This will all bear fruit as they say, in time. But we have little time.”

She shrugged expressively and gave a broad gesture with her hands, “The fact remains you have no Master to which you may pledge yourself. Without a Master, you have no home with us. You certainly have no residence. One cannot live in our Healer’s Ward for even one winter, much less many long winters. So a solution must be found. There is insufficient time for a proper courtship. Therefore, I have invited here today, every Master who has no family to speak of or perhaps has just one person and has been unable to make a claim until there is a further addition. You will have sixty nights to spend time with the people you see before you. To see who may be of interest to you. Then I shall meet with each of you and I will confirm your selection. I will then advise your selected Master and determine if they will accept you into their family. If they do, your claim will be announced, you will be given your collars and you may move into your new home, properly. Whereafter you will belong to your Master and, in turn, they will belong to you.”

The silence was that of a people stunned. Murphy and Emori already had a take on the situation but it was different than they imagined. His gaze slipped over to the big man, Bjorn, and then back to Emori. Maybe this wasn’t so terrible. It would be like … nope … his brain determinedly skipped right on over everything that happened in Polis with Ontari. He wiped his hand against his pants, as if that sticky feeling of her blood still coated his hand. Yeah, this was different. He could do this, right? Just a couple years, safe place, him and Emori together with ... someone. He could share if Emori felt safe and comfortable. Emori who was credited with saving them all by the Heda herself. He liked that about the Grandmother already. Emori had spent her lifetime feeling like she was nothing and now every one of their lives had been spared because of her and because her brother was a good person who helped another man and saved his life. He gave Emori’s hand a gentle squeeze, “Hey ... your family is always with me, you know that right?” Emori’s gaze flashed to him and he read her nerves and her courage. He knew which one would win in the end. He and Emori were survivors after all. As long as the rest of these guys didn’t fuck it up.

The Grandmother let silence reign for a moment before she delicately dropped into her seat and tapped her cane just once to indicate her words were concluded. The Granddaughter rose to pick up the moment and carry it forward, “The Grandmother has made her proclamation. For the next sixty nights, you may use this meeting room to speak with people, prospective masters. You may go to the Market. Or explore some of the other workplaces or communal spaces, always in the company of a Master. You may not enter a private residence of a Master until the claim is complete. Each night you must return to the Healer’s Ward for your rest. You are adults and we expect you to behave as such. No fighting. No violence. You will have time to consider not only your prospective Masters but also employment opportunities you may find interesting. For these sixty days, credits will be provided such that you may acquire food and other necessities. After that time it will be up to your Master or your own work to acquire the credits you need.” 

Master Elys looked down at her Grandmother and received the nod before her back straightened again and she looked over the waiting crowd. “While these newcomers have no Master, they are under my name. Any harm to them, is harm to me. Do not risk my wrath.” Her sharp gaze flashed back to the newest additions, “Choose well. And remember to give credit to the man whose life we honoured in sparing you. You are now LachiaKru. We honour the dead. We honour them by surviving, by carrying their name forward, for we will be of the few left to speak those names. Welcome home.” 

With that the meeting ended, the others disbursing out the doors, led by the Grandmother herself who had other matters to which she must attend. The Bunker had just closed and despite years of preparation there were always problems to resolve. 


	5. Courtships Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know some of the others in the Bunker and see where interest lays for the expedited courtship of the last minute additions.

**_“Rules for happiness: something to do, someone to love, something to hope for.”_**

Bjorn and Ivar sat in their brother’s suite and listened as Sofia scolded them. The petite woman had long fair hair, currently tied up in a tail that hung down to her shoulders. She had achieved journeyman status as a midwife. During her training, she had worked with Ivar and in so doing, met their brother, Ubbe. Their brother was immediately enraptured with the fair haired, petite woman originally from PodaKru. Progressing over several winters, the courtship had been settled some time ago. They were just seeking the rest of their set. No claim was possible without at least one more. Earlier this spring, they had a prospect they found engaging but he had disappeared in the disaster that was the computer program takeover of Polis and had never returned. They grieved his loss as no one else had come close to being what they felt was a good match. They were admittedly rather particular. All of them were, to be fair, which explained why all four siblings remained without a family of their own. This was extremely unusual. Their sole remaining parent, their Mama, fussed continuously about how she was never going to be blessed with grandchildren since all of her children were too obstinate to give her any.

Sofia paused in her rant about their foolhardy ways as Cat bounced into the room. Aside from their Mama, who taught the youngest children their letters and numbers in their schoolroom, Cat was the only one of the family who was not in the healing profession. She was fascinated with the power that made things go. She worked with the electrical systems that kept the heat, the light and most importantly the air flowing into the Bunker, purified from the toxins that were currently pouring over their mountain home. She had been obsessed with the inner workings of things all her life, making her one of the youngest masters in her profession. She was a tiny girl with bright red hair and wide dark eyes. She looked nothing like her three elder brothers, which was not entirely surprising since she was the only blood child of their Mama, who had the same bright hair but which had faded into a warmer, darker colour lined with streaks of silver in her older years.

Sighing in frustration as neither Ivar nor Bjorn looked the slightest bit remorseful about taking such imprudent risks in order to rescue the young people now tucked into their healer’s ward, Sofia finally gave up. So far, the midwife had only met the young pregnant TriKru girl and her hovering man when she had examined her. Norah was her name and she had been mostly silent the entire time, answering Sofia’s questions but offering little in the way of information. The poor creature looked utterly done in, which was not surprising given the circumstances.

Finally she set the pot on the table and let each of them serve themselves as she settled into her seat. “Did you ….” Ivar asked and Sofia had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Of course not. You know my food always tastes terrible. Ubbe prepared it yesterday. All I did was warm it up.” Sofia returned with a grumble. Jerks, she mumbled under her breath. They all heard her but pretended not to because the only one who was bluntly honest enough to tell her that her food was terrible was Ivar. However, they all knew it to be true. They didn’t know how the woman could make almost anything unpalatable. It was a gift but not a good one.

Relieved, everyone served themselves. Ubbe joined them from the other room and settled into a seat and didn’t waste any time in starting the conversation they all really wanted to have. “So which ones are you going for?” he asked all of them. He and Sofia had talked half the night after the Grandmother’s pronouncement. To be honest, he had assumed the newcomers would live in an empty storage space with some hasty refitting of the place. This plan was infinitely superior in his mind. He was tired of living alone, with his woman still staying with her parents since their set was incomplete and he could not claim her. 

Cat opened her mouth and then closed it before opening it again. “Ummm … the tall one with the curls … he looks … good.” She cleared her throat. They were an open family but still, this was not a topic she had ever broached around her brothers. To be fair, her sole focus for the last few years was building her rank so that she would have a suite to herself in the Bunker. She had made it with one winter to spare. It had been a close thing. Now, however, she had to admit she was considering her options. There were a few upcoming journeymen who had caught her attention but tall, dark and curly was definitely interesting. 

Ivar shook his head, “He cried over some little blonde who wouldn’t come in. Also he keeps talking about someone called ‘Oh’. He might be a bit much for you. You don’t usually like the soggy ones.” Ivar could always be counted on to state the truth and he was extremely observant, which was both great and frustrating all at the same time. The number one trick to dealing with Ivar was never ask his opinion unless you wanted to hear it because he would give it without softening his words and you might not like what he had to say. Many a young one had tried to get his interest over the years as he was the prettiest of them and a well-regarded Master in his profession. However, they usually ended up seeking pastures with a more sweet-tongued Master. He was hard to take and he knew it. He was ruthlessly honest, even with himself.

Cat was visibly disappointed. “Figures.” she muttered and spooned some food into her mouth. Like Sofia she was a wretched cook and usually had to rely on the kindness of others to keep her belly full. She swallowed and took a sip of her water before asking, “Okay so how about the tall girl with the soulful eyes? She’s Azgeda, right?”

Bjorn nodded, “She was at least. I don’t know. Something messy there I haven’t figured out. She was pretty fierce when it came to us leaving. Didn’t hesitate. Don’t know if she’s the type to cook for you though Cat. You two would probably have fun sparring if nothing else.” Cat brightened at these words, a plan forming as to how to draw the outsider’s attention. Given her focus on the Bunker, she hadn’t really ever tried to court anyone. Could be fun really. 

Sofia and Ubbe exchanged conspiratorial looks. They had some ideas too but didn’t really want to share them yet so kept silent. Ubbe looked over at Bjorn and nodded, “And you? Gonna go for the boy and Emori?” He asked, although he said it like that was quite the obvious choice. 

Bjorn flushed, “They …” He cleared his throat, “Ummm … turns out they are really young. I mean I never really tracked Emori’s age before but he’s not even twenty winters. I don’t … yeah.” Ubbe barked out a laugh, “Oh shit, you’ve become one of those men.” Then he flinched as Bjorn’s fist met his shoulder roughly. 

“Hey!” Sofia exclaimed and pointed at the two men who were easily double her size each. So she was pointing at four times her size and muscle mass and didn’t look the slightest bit intimidated, “None of that at my table. Ubbe don’t be an ass. Bjorn no hitting. For the sake of all the old gods, stop it.” 

“Sorry.” The two men mumbled in unison, although Ubbe was still laughing and Bjorn was still glaring. He was not and had never been one of ‘those’ men. It wasn’t his fault that he assumed that the boy was at least twenty winters old. Emori he knew was at least eighteen, which still felt young to him. He hadn’t thought that the John Murphy would be younger still. 

No one asked Ivar because he didn’t do courtship and never had. Ivar waited for a minute to see if anyone would be bold enough before finally he grumbled out, “I was thinking of Norah and Micah.” He slipped his glance over toward Bjorn, “Unless you were.” 

Bjorn’s eyebrows lifted in response to this startling information. Ivar wanted to court someone? A pair? With a baby on the way? Wait, the TriKru man’s name was Micah? Had he know that? Bjorn shook his head, “No I wasn’t considering them. You … you should do that.” 

Ivar looked uncertain. “I just … it took a lot of courage to do that … to risk it all and come here with the baby on the way. I admire that.” He explained, his cheeks darkening, and that alone utterly astonished everyone at the table. Ivar was blushing and talking about courage and courtship. 

Sofia smiled and tried to lighten the moment by saying, “I suppose it doesn’t hurt that she is quite beautiful too.” Ivar had to huff out a laugh at that. “No, that doesn’t hurt either.” 

“Of course … all of them are quite attractive. Suppose that didn’t hurt with the rescue attempt. Huh boys?” Sofia gave Ivar and Bjorn a look.

Bjorn objected, “That’s not fair. The only one I knew for a fact was pretty was John Murphy. The rest was as much a surprise to me as you all.” Everyone laughed at that, continuing the conversation in a lighter vein and Ivar settled into the promising notion that at least his family did not think it was a terrible idea for him to go courting. 

Later, after dishes were washed and everything was put away, Ubbe walked Sofia back to her family suite. Cat bounced away to do some more reading of a dense technical manual she was working through slowly for some component of medical equipment she was trying to get working.

Ivar and Bjorn walked down the two flights of stairs that existed between their suites and Ubbe and Cat’s. “What about the one they call Raven Reyes?” Ivar suggested quietly to Bjorn. “She’s clever. You always like it when they are more than a pretty face, although she has that too. Unless the brace bothers you?”

“Doesn’t bother me no. I just ….” Bjorn flushed and didn’t want to admit that his focus had been on the other two to the exclusion of their companions. “Is she young too?” There was the question.

Ivar lifted a broad shoulder and let it fall haphazardly, “She is over 19 winters. I asked.” He stated bluntly. “Don’t get the impression she is mourning family. They were already lost to her. Just friends. You could … we could all … be her family?” 

Observant as he was, Ivar was worth listening to and in that moment, Bjorn resolved to make an effort to get to know the clever woman with the pretty face. “Raven? Isn’t that a kind of bird?” he asked distractedly. 

Ivar just laughed, “And your name means bear … so the bird and the bear. Could work.”

“Oh fuck off.” Bjorn returned with a soft laugh of his own. He entered the code that allowed him access to his suite before turning to pull his brother into a hug. They were a tactile family and since their parents had encouraged it, they hadn’t stopped even as adults.

The next day, Bjorn made certain to dress well. His cleanest shirt and trousers were laid out. He trimmed his beard and redid his long braid that fell to the middle of his back. Their Mother had been rather fascinated with the ancient Danes from which she claimed to be descended. They were all named accordingly, Bjorn, Ubbe, Ivar and Freya. Cat hated her birth name and would only answer to Cat by the time she was three winters. Their Mother had finally given up and it had made their Mama and Papa laugh that the tiny stubborn redhead won the battle of her own name. Bjorn and Ubbe were lighter in colouring, similar to their Papa, while Ivar’s colouring took after their Mother. All the men had bright blue eyes like their father. Ubbe was the shortest of the three men but was still considered tall. Bjorn, as the eldest and the largest of the three, was as much a bear as his name implied. His uncles had been convinced he would make a fine warrior and while he could certainly fight, he preferred the art and science of healing. 

As he made his way to the Healer’s Ward, he hummed nonsense songs under his breath and tried to consider how one courted inside a Bunker. There could be no trips to the river’s edge or boat trips down to where the waters turned white. They couldn’t go to the waterfalls and bathe in the ancient pools that some claimed to be healing. He could take her down to the hot springs on the lowest level but that was kind of intimate for initial courtship. That was for when you wanted somewhere to go to engage in something a lot more than a conversation.

He pushed open the door and spotted Emori about to exit. Instantly his heart gave a light squeeze. Well damn it. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek in a kind of gentle greeting. “Are you well?” he asked quietly and smiled as she nodded and explained that her John was on the mend and looking forward to walking around but first she was going for a shower.

“I’ll check and see how he is and see what you both can get up to.” He offered quietly. He was surprised to find that he was actually one of the last available Masters milling about. There were several in the room. Some were being quite distant and chatting politely. Some were being quite forward and if they kept that up, he was quite confident the one called Echo was going to snap some necks, judging by the expression on her face. That would get her in trouble, which he did not want. 

“Alright … this is quite enough. I need to conduct some examinations.” Bjorn stated, loudly enough to have everyone in the room glancing over. Rumo stepped toward Bjorn and his handsome face dissolved into a snide meanness. He could never maintain his nice exterior for long. It was beyond the other Master. He was an excellent man when left to smithing but he was rude and mean to human beings, which meant he had never sustained a courtship longer than a single winter. Bjorn feared these rushed circumstances were giving Masters like him an unfair advantage. 

Rumo grumbled, “Just trying to get your pick of the litter, eh Bjorn?” Bjorn’s jaw tightened in response, disliking the fact that he had been kind of thinking along those lines and not enjoying any similarity with Rumo.

“If you wish to escort anyone down to the Market, that would be good.” He offered up more quietly. The Market occupied most of a lower level along with food stalls. The credit station was there. It wasn’t entirely set up yet but the space was cheerful and bright. It gave everyone the opportunity to speak and show off some of the nicer qualities of the Bunker without being as claustrophobic or as intimate as the new arrivals’ temporary sleeping space.

The others filtered away slowly. The pregnant girl, Norah, he reminded himself of her name, looked apprehensive and frankly he couldn’t blame her. Rumo was taking particular interest in her it seemed. Interestingly, the Azgeda warrior seemed to be following next to her, as if letting her know she was not alone. He hoped his sister liked the Echo of Azgeda because they had a similar kind of fierce that he liked to see in his sister and he wouldn’t mind having more than one like her to claim as sister. 

The room quickly felt spare and empty as most of the crowd had disappeared, leaving John Murphy, stretched out on his bed and the one called Raven fiddling with her brace. He stopped by her and looked down at her, waiting until she glanced up. Struck by how lovely her eyes were, he smiled at her. “If you’d like to go to the Market after I have finished here, I would be pleased to escort you, Raven Reyes.” He watched as her mouth opened, her head shaking slightly and with a pang he realized she intended to decline. Then to his surprise, she said, “Yeah, I’d like that.” His grin stretched wide and he nodded, “Good. I am pleased.”

Stepping away from the petite brunette, Bjorn stopped by the bed containing the boy. He felt uncomfortably possessive of John Murphy and Emori. They were so young though. Lifting a hand, he traced it over the boy’s dark hair and waited until those bright eyes opened. The haze of pain had left them. He was uncomfortable but no longer in the pain he had been experiencing only a few days ago. This confirmed that his suspicion was accurate. The ribs were cracked and not broken. They would heal with care, which he would receive plenty of here. 

“I’m just going to check.” He explained quietly, “See how you are healing.” Bjorn waited for that nod of acknowledgement. The prone younger man lay still as Bjorn’s hands moved over his slim frame. Too slim. This boy needed about two winters of good, consistent food. As long as neither Sofia nor Cat fed them any of their cooking, he’d get it here. One advantage he supposed. He gave a soft grunt as he lifted the boy’s shirt. His torso was still covered in bruises and he was careful as he inspected the boy’s chest and abdomen. 

“Healing well.” Bjorn finally acknowledged as he lowered the fabric. “Be careful when you are walking around. Take it slow. No getting jostled or bumped. Just give yourself plenty of space and take your time. Fighting is not permitted inside the Bunker, except in the sparring room anyway, so avoid that and you’ll be just fine.” He explained in a firm, professional tone. “Do you have any questions?”

To his surprise, John Murphy said nothing and just shook his head. “Do you want to be escorted anywhere?” He asked. 

“No. Just gonna try to get some sleep now that everyone’s fucked off for a while. Too noisy in here to sleep at night.” the boy responded to his question. There was more anger in those words than Bjorn expected and he wasn’t sure why this ill feeling had arisen. 

Leaning in the Healer whispered, “Did someone hurt you? Emori? Do you need help?” The question was so soft that even Raven two beds away couldn’t have heard it. John Murphy just shook his head again and deliberately looked away. 

“I will leave you to rest then. I will check on you later.” Bjorn explained and he felt a strange sort of reluctance to leave the boy there, especially when he was clearly unhappy. He wanted to see that smile warm his features again. He brushed a hand over John Murphy’s soft hair and down his shoulder before tugging up the blanket to cover him. Turning to Raven, Bjorn murmured quietly, “Are you ready to go?” To his surprise he was greeted with a broad smile and a firm nod, “Absolutely. Let’s go.” she responded quickly. 

______

Murphy wanted to spit rocks. Stupid Raven. Except he knew she wasn’t stupid. She was brilliant and clearly Bjorn was interested in her. What did he do wrong? It was a petulant and childish thought. He was already a million times more lucky that he probably deserved. He had Emori, who was the best and most beautiful girl in the entire world, he was sure of it. Especially when this part of the world was narrowed down to two Bunkers with an overall capacity of less than a few thousand people. Fuck, that was a bleak thought. Why did it bother him so much that the first thing Bjorn did was send everyone away and then ask to escort Raven? Why didn’t he offer to escort him and Emori somewhere?

He glanced up when he heard the door open again and saw Emori’s bright face. “Raven huh?” Fuck, she had seen too. So he wasn’t crazy. That helped. At least a little. “I know.” He replied with a groan. “Then I was grumpy with him and now he’s going to show her around.” 

Emori sighed and settled next to him on the edge of the bed. His left side didn’t hurt as much as his right so she tucked in there and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Well, probably best he saw your real colours.” She murmured and he laughed before groaning, “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” 

He lay with her in silence for a while before finally whispering, “Did you see another one that might be okay?” What a sick and fucked up question? He understood this whole Master thing hadn’t been quite the nightmare situation as Emori had feared. It still wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t excited about belonging to someone or wearing another collar. The last one still felt like a ghost around his neck, not to mention … nope … his brain just shoved that away. He wasn’t prepared to deal with it. He couldn’t. His arm tightened around Emori’s shoulders. He had traded himself to survive before, he could do it again. He just didn’t want that trade to be anyone other than the only person here, aside from Emori, who made him feel safe.

Emori was quiet for a long time. He knew she liked this all less than him. She didn’t want to be the property of anyone. She had traded a lot of her basic dignity as a child, just to earn her survival. Murphy never pretended, not even in his own self-indulgence, that Emori’s life had been easy. She had shared many things with them over the last few months. His childhood had taken a dark turn when he had gotten sick but before that, he had two adults who had loved him. She had never been so fortunate. She had her brother, who was now gone. She had him, and here that wasn’t enough to keep her secure. Laying here with Emori was his favourite thing and yet, his mind drifted to Raven and Bjorn. He hated himself for it. He shouldn’t care. They had only been here for a week so far. He shouldn’t be like this? Should he? 

___ 

It was irritating how often Ivar was right, it really was. He wanted to be more bothered about it but it was impossible. Raven was delightful. Once he managed to ask the right questions (by the way - asking about family had been a bad choice), she began to share her thoughts. He had to admit he didn’t understand all of it. However, her enthusiasm was engaging and he knew he would need to introduce her to the team of Engineers responsible for the operation and maintenance teams of the Bunker. They were also saying the word ‘engineer’ wrong with a hard sort of ‘g’ sound and not the soft one she used. To be fair, they learned this word from books they had found, which had not come with a pronunciation guide. 

She was petite and he found himself tempted to touch her a number of times during their excursion. Bjorn managed to keep it respectful, only touching her upper back or shoulder when pointing something out or guiding her in some way. The temptation to weave his hand in the long, dark fall of her hair was strong. Raven Reyes was beautiful, it was true, and he was pleased to get to know a little of that sharp mind behind such beauty. 

As they walked around, they spotted the others in mid-courtship. Echo was still with the pregnant Norah, unfortunately suffering the attentions of Rumo. Micah however, was speaking with Ivar, which Bjorn found promising. However, what surprised him more was when he spotted Ubbe and Sofia speaking with the boy with the dislocated shoulder and his girl. Now they certainly fell into Ubbe’s type, the two females looked a little alike at a distance with their light hair and pretty features. The male’s features were more unique in this area but certainly very handsome. They were young though and Ubbe had mocked him quite ruthlessly for expressing interest in a pair that he suspected were older than the two Ubbe was speaking with at this moment. Then they disappeared from the Market. Now that was perplexing. 

However, Bjorn had his own sort of courtship under way and he needed to focus if he wanted the young woman to take him seriously. He certainly took family seriously after all. Raven Reyes didn’t really seem to have any, which was the only thing he truly found troubling. Would she understand what it meant to be part of one? At least with the level of commitment he would require from her. Ordinarily they would have a winter or two to explore these ideas together and see if they fit. However, at this point they were under a time crunch and had just fifty one more nights to know one another before she would have to make a selection.

____ 

Murphy continued to find this entire process completely bizarre. Romu had finally given up on Norah as Micah made it clear he was not interested. Bellamy had to break up an incident that nearly developed there. One of the Bunker guards bore witness to the event and in a spring of good fortune, Bellamy was given a position with them. It wasn’t perfect but it gave him credits to earn and something to do. Bellamy seemed a lot happier with something to do several days of the week. Norah and Micah had become more of their group, the forced proximity and unusual situation leading to many nights seated around, dining on courting gifts and drinking the LachiaKru ale, which was pretty decent. 

Norah confided that although Micah liked Ivar the best, she found him absolutely terrifying and did not want to be claimed by him. They were looking at alternatives but no one else appealed yet either. Murphy got the sense that she liked Bjorn but wasn’t willing to say the words. He was fine with that. He didn’t want those words out in the universe because if Bjorn had Raven and these two, there would be no room for him. Emori said he was too fixated but even she admitted Bjorn was the only one she really wanted either. Ivar was probably his second favourite but the man didn’t seem soft enough to put up with him, which sounded bad but even he knew he could be a shit sometimes. Which meant he needed someone who found that somewhat charming at least. Emori liked him as he was. Raven understood him to a degree, even if she kind of hated him at times too. Frankly he couldn’t see any of the other Master putting up with him. He also didn’t like how some of the others looked at Emori’s hand. They didn’t say the word but they certainly thought it. He could see it in their eyes.

The weird and interesting miniature redhead called Cat was making serious overtures toward Echo and occasionally throwing some courting energy toward Bellamy, which made Murphy laugh since this girl was nothing like anyone he had ever seen with Bellamy. However, Bellamy could use the distraction and she was definitely a distraction. Good or bad remained to be seen, especially since this Cat was also very into Echo. Could Bellamy really live for years with the woman who literally tried to kill his sister multiple times? 


End file.
